


Those Who Drink the Dark

by pantswarrior



Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: areyougame, Dark Magic, Edgeplay, M/M, Masochism, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the ritual, Hardin offers to help Sydney come to terms with not only his new hands, but other changes wrought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Drink the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I had been meaning for some time to "reboot" my headcanon for these two in a sense, solely so I could write more about them. This was one of the big changes from my past fic that I'd thought of making. So nice to have an excuse to do so...

The ritual had been necessary. There could be no argument about that. Müllenkamp required the infusion of power it would bring, in light of the cardinal's recent efforts to exterminate them. Risky as it was, it had been done in past generations - if rarely, given the requirements - and the gods had always rewarded those who offered themselves willingly.

Knowing that it was necessary, and knowing that Sydney at the least had faith that the reward would be worthwhile, did not mean that Hardin was comfortable with it. It had not been his decision to make, however; he had not been the one who was to be sacrificed.

Nay - he had only to endure his part. The holding of the power, the watching, and the aftermath. Sydney had been merciful, removing him from his usual post to stand for the element of the Dark, rather than Earth. He must have known that Hardin would have been unable to do what was asked otherwise.

Hardin had barely managed to do what was asked of the one who stood for the Dark, in fact. He had had to hold the power, calling it into him and keeping it within, as it lunged and clawed and hungered for the one who was to provide it with a feast. He had had to watch, as the brothers and sisters bound Sydney's arms and legs, splaying him out naked upon the altar. He had had to watch the axes descend, and the blood spill, and the skin that had caressed him, that he had kissed so many times, withered and blackened in the flames.

Though he had seen injury, death, and loss of limb many a time in the Peaceguard, Hardin barely managed to fulfill his part of the ritual, loosing the Dark to feed, weaving with the Light to heal, before he turned away and was nearly ill.

Sydney had warned him before the ritual that it was unlikely to end there. The Dark was a dangerous energy, and though the gods would sustain his body and soul, they would both be challenged. The usual spells of healing, Light-aligned, could do only so much for someone so intertwined with the Dark - and the Dark delighted in misdirection. The days following the ritual might be as wearying as the ritual itself, and there was no way to know when, if ever, Sydney might return to his usual self. This warning had been given in private; the others were not to know, lest they see Sydney as frail, as a mortal, and lose heart. This was to be Hardin's own task, as Sydney's partner and second - to care for Sydney in solitude, to maintain the appearance of calm order.

Hardin had guessed that if it were to pass as Sydney had predicted, it would be difficult. Enduring for days, alone with Sydney, who was feverish and raving and... perhaps hallucinating, perhaps prophecying, but certainly seeing things that were not present as his mind and body tried to make sense of the damage that had been done... Hardin was near to the breaking point, between worry and exhaustion and memories of his young brother's illness and the constant need to remain strong and reassuring for both Sydney and their brethren. He could not allow anyone to know of his fear that Sydney might be lost to them - and to himself.

But one day, Hardin woke at dawn to find himself blinking at the early light in surprise. Sydney had not wakened him all night with his fits or ranting - and indeed, was still himself asleep. Perhaps unconscious, but Hardin thought it was mere sleep. A touch revealed that the fever had broken. Hardin went to draw more water, so it would be fresh and cold if needed, and after drinking of it briefly, settled down in his seat near the bed - it was far too dangerous to share now, while Sydney lacked control - and nodded off again as well.

Fatigue prompted him to spend much of the day in the same manner, leaving the house in the Town Centre where they were secluded only briefly, to speak with his officers and confirm that all remained calm. He didn't dare speak of hope that Sydney's condition might be improving, and that he might return to them soon. Instead, he stated again that Sydney was communing with the gods who so favored him, and would speak with the brethren once their business was concluded. 

It may not entirely have been a lie. Certainly Hardin had been spending much of his time in desperate prayer, and when Sydney cried out, sometimes it was to the gods. Sometimes, and it broke Hardin's heart, he called for his mother or father. But sometimes he called for John, whether he recognized that it was Hardin there with him or not. Though the Sight showed him that Sydney was still calm, Hardin returned as quickly as he could manage.

Upon his return, Hardin rested the back of his hand against Sydney's brow, and leaned down to rest his head upon Sydney's chest. There was so little left of him now, so little flesh and bone... but the heartbeat was steady. Hardin permitted himself hope, for a few moments, and nodded off in the chair once more before those few moments had ended.

When next he woke, it was dark, and the bed was empty.

Hardin was wide awake at once. The darkness mattered little to one with the Sight, and instinct alone caused him to scrye; he had only just heard the faint sounds from the next room when he saw Sydney at the table, unwrapping what was left of a loaf of bread. It was a great relief to see Sydney acting so normally - a relief, and also unnerving.

Rather than getting up from his seat, Hardin remained where he was and watched from afar as Sydney took up the knife, cut himself a thick slice. A perfectly ordinary action, it might have seemed, and yet Hardin could not stop watching.

Finally, after having lifted the bread to his lips and swallowed a bite, Sydney spoke. "Now that you're awake, would you care to join me, Hardin?"

He wasn't surprised. Hardin had never been sure which of Sydney's talents allowed him to tell when he was being scryed, but he always knew. Seeing him behaving as he always had was a relief unchallenged by discomfort or revulsion, and so Hardin stood, rolling stiff shoulders before he accepted Sydney's invitation.

Sydney was carving off another thick slice of bread when Hardin came to the doorway. "I expect you have something more in the cupboards," he was saying. "I'm aware that having gone so long without solid food, famished as I am, it would be wise to start slowly - but I would not be offended if you chose to partake of something more substantial."

It had been a long time since Hardin had eaten, true, and he was indeed inclined towards something more than bread... but he couldn't look away.

Though Sydney had to know, he simply held out his hand, offering Hardin the bread. "...Thank you," Hardin murmured, and carefully accepted it, pulling out the other chair to sit across from Sydney.

Of course Sydney knew - he took another bite of his own bread, then... "These are frightening to you, are they not?"

Above the loose sleeve of the robe Sydney wore, the clawed gauntlet flexed at the wrist, fingers straightening gracefully in a gesture Hardin had seen before, then closing to a fist with a metallic click. Sydney regarded it with little interest, then his eyes met Hardin's.

"...I am grateful that you are not left lacking," Hardin managed. 

"The gods do not require more than we can bear to surrender," Sydney reasoned, and the wrist turned, the jointed blades separating and then closing again, clicking into place one by one. "These are ancient, sacred artifacts, used throughout the ages by those priests who would dare surrender so much. You know this. You examined them before the ritual."

"Yes..." That much was true. "I was uncertain of how well they would function in practice."

"As you can see, they function just as well as my previous limbs."

"That is a part of why they frighten me," Hardin muttered. He had examined them, indeed - the artificial arms and legs were hollow. They had been lifeless and loose, like an empty suit of armor, drooping at the joints when he lifted them. And now, though he knew there was still nothing within, they moved with fluid grace, with the same mannerisms as Sydney's own arms once had displayed.

"We are all sustained by the same elements, granted for our use by the gods," Sydney stated, setting down his own bit of bread and resting his arms upon the table between them, crossed at the wrists. "Earth and Air and Fire and Water and Light and Dark flow through all of us, giving life to flesh and blood so that our souls may use our bodies as we will. Is it so strange that the Dark should do the same for limbs of metal?"

When he put it in such a way, perhaps it wasn't, Hardin had to admit. Alien and unnerving, but perhaps not unnatural. "As always, when it comes to the works of the gods, you are my teacher. I will try to remember this."

Sydney simply nodded. Between them, the gauntlets - Sydney's new hands - curled. Almost absently, at first glance. Slowly... and Hardin realized, from the marks left behind, that the blades were digging into the surface of the old wooden table.

Despite his calm exterior, Sydney was struggling with this just as he was.

Hardin set the bread he was still holding down. "Sydney..." he began, and immediately realized he had no tactful way to ask the question.

As Sydney was a heartseer, there was no need for him to ask aloud. "There are certain disadvantages, I suppose," Sydney replied idly. One gauntlet turned upwards, the bladed fingers flexing again as he pondered them. "These do not feel, the way hands of flesh feel. Pressure can be sensed, but texture is another matter. Although I've had no opportunity as of yet to test, I don't believe that I would be able to tell the difference between heat or cold... although the metal is cold against my skin." He looked up to Hardin. "And doubtless against your own."

Hardin averted his eyes somewhat; maybe he should eat the bread Sydney had offered. The gods knew he'd eaten little enough during Sydney's recovery. And yes... it had occurred to him. It had not occurred to him, however, that this loss would be felt by Sydney as well.

Sydney didn't push it any further, and simply took another bite of his own bread, holding it only somewhat awkwardly between the metal claws. "I thank you for keeping watch over me all this time," he said, when he'd finished.

"I couldn't have done otherwise," Hardin said honestly. As both the second-in-command of Müllenkamp and Sydney's partner, he certainly wouldn't have left it to anyone else.

"It can't have been easy on you."

"No, but seeing you recovered makes it all worthwhile." That too was honest - his concern and exhaustion was slipping away, now that he knew Sydney was all right. The sense of sadness and loss and pity, however, remained.

It hadn't escaped Sydney's notice. "Although your partner is now unfit to be your partner any longer?"

Hardin's eyes shot up, narrowing as they met Sydney's. "I would never think that."

"No, but you mourn," Sydney told him, his eyes holding Hardin's fast. "Your heart mourns for the body you knew. Much of it remains, but even so, you mourn for the portion which has been lost."

"I don't see that things could ever be the same," Hardin retorted. "But I would not abandon you."

"I made a sacrifice of myself unto the gods," said Sydney. "I exchanged myself for their favor. And now you feel as though something of your own has been stolen."

"Your body was yours to offer," Hardin acknowledged. Gods, the way Sydney was looking at him, intense and unblinking, almost predatory... But Hardin might only have been projecting, given the trajectory of his own thoughts. "I will not deny that I shall miss the touch of your hands - but..." In his resolution that he had done what he had needed to do, Sydney might not have been willing to acknowledge it, that he might miss the ability to _feel_ Hardin.

Though he might approach the admission. After the passing of long moments, Sydney lifted his arm again, observing the movement of shining wrist and fingers. "...I sacrificed more than you can comprehend."

Hardin nodded, accepting - there was naught else he could do. "I understand."

The hand abruptly clenched to a fist, and came crashing down between them. There were marks left behind from the impact when Sydney lifted it away from the wood. "You understand nothing," Sydney hissed at him, pushing himself up to lean over the table. "Your talent is to See, Hardin, but in this you are blind. You see what has become of the body, but you cannot see what has been done to the soul."

Taken aback, Hardin recognized that it was true. He was no heartseer, and he could only guess at what have been taking place within, while Sydney was semi-conscious and incoherent. He seemed himself enough now, but he had no way of knowing for sure. And he would not ask. If Sydney wished to share what he knew, then he would - but Hardin would not risk his anger. Particularly not now.

Clearly Sydney had heard that thought, because his lips twisted in a bitter smirk, and he began to raise a hand to cover his face - until he saw the hand in question, and let it fall. "...Do you now fear me?" he asked, turning that bitter smile to Hardin.

Hardin suspected there was no good answer to that question, but Sydney would hear regardless of whether it was a good answer or not. "...Presently, yes. I don't expect, after you and I have both had time to accustom ourselves to-"

"Accustom ourselves?" Sydney repeated, breaking in. "Again, Hardin, you are blind. You see as the world sees, the loss of flesh and bone. One might become accustomed to living without such things as these..."

Sydney's head bowed, a deep breath hissing through his teeth as though he were steeling himself. Hardin stood, uncertain. Whatever Sydney was referring to, whatever was weighing on him, it seemed as though something far worse had come to pass than he was aware of. Sydney was right - he didn't understand at all.

Naturally, Sydney did, though he asked no question. "...You have felt the Dark," Sydney murmured. "You have summoned it forth and directed it, and it has accepted you as an acolyte in its service, willing to come when you call. But beforehand, I warned you to be cautious. You have heard the Dark's seductive whispers, and its longing - and it will seize upon any weakness in order to get what it desires."

Hardin was aware, yes. Before he had begun to work with the elements, Sydney had carefully instructed him in their ways - and the Dark, he had said, was unlike any other, without the governance of a deity. It was disordered, unruly, and required firm discipline in addition to respect.

"As often as you have felt it, or made use of it, or even heard its call," Sydney continued, "you do not know, and you cannot comprehend, what it means to become one with it, as has been done." He paused to shake his head, to scoff bitterly. "It sustains me, and I must depend upon it. I can no more separate myself from the Dark than one could remove the grape from the wine... and I no longer hear its whispers, for its desires have become my own."

...Perhaps, then, Hardin had not been imagining the look in Sydney's eyes. While its counterpart fostered revelation, healing, and ideas and concepts which transcended, taking one above the seen world, the Dark dealt in deception, mortality, and the escalation of the physical world - in particular the desire for reproduction, or merely bodily pleasure. Indeed - the loose robe had fallen open when Sydney stood, and between the metal plates and the cords that held them to Sydney's hips...

Hardin felt a stirring between his own legs in response; not unexpected, nor unwelcome. "You desired me before the ritual," he said, lifting his eyes to meet Sydney's again - and this time allowed himself to examine what he saw there. Desire, of course, wilder than Sydney would ordinarily have shown before they had so much as touched... or it might have been the influence of the Dark, as he had been trying to explain. But underlying was an emotion that was most certainly _not_ of the Dark, but Sydney alone. Sydney was afraid. It was nearly lost beneath desperation and frustration and need, but he was afraid. "Never have I denied you," Hardin continued, more softly. "I will not begin now."

"You know not what you offer," Sydney told him. "I am not the only one who desires your body."

"Even so," Hardin replied, and moved to approach Sydney, stepping around the end of the table. "If the same power that keeps you alive requires my body, then I will provide it with what it asks, out of gratitude."

"Hardin..." Sydney took a hasty step back as Hardin stretched out a hand to touch his face, and he closed his eyes. "...It asks more than the _pleasure_ of your body. It is, after all, the Dark."

"...Does it." That, then, explained Sydney's reluctance. As he had said, Hardin had heard the Dark's whispers, and knew what it savored. Formless, without substance, winding through a world that was full and real and solid, capable of touch... The Dark delighted in making that world more like itself.

Sydney nodded. "I find myself... wanting to see your skin slit. To see your blood well up and drip..." He inhaled sharply, shuddering; his skin was flushed, his hips tilted forward slightly beneath the robe. Despite the disturbing admissions, the sight of Sydney in such a state affected Hardin on a deep, primal level, and it was maddening to think that they both must hold back.

"And it would be so easy," Sydney continued, opening his eyes to once more regard his new hands. "...So easy to indulge..." 

Hardin felt a chill as if the Dark had embraced him. ...Perhaps it was not so far off.

But no one had embraced him, as of yet. He looked back to Sydney's eyes, and found them watching him, troubled. "I will not give it what it wants," Sydney murmured. "I control the Dark. It does not control me."

"You always have," Hardin agreed. And Sydney, in a sense, had controlled _him_ as well, ever since they had met. Hardin was spellbound by the man, not by the Dark magic he commanded; he knew full well how powerful Sydney's will was.

And then, also, Hardin's will was nearly as strong; when it came to those important to him, he would never surrender to anyone, or anything. That included the Dark.

"Hardin." Sydney shook his head, turning it away. "I have spent the last... I know not how many days I have spent struggling with the Dark. I have won a difficult victory, in that I have not touched you."

"If you can no longer touch me, then it is no victory," Hardin stated.

Sydney had to know what he was thinking. That may have been why he didn't say anything for a long time, simply leaning on the back of the chair he had vacated. "With these hands, it might be impossible to avoid indulging the Dark."

"Then indulge it," Hardin suggested, stepping closer. "You said it yourself - you control the Dark, and it does not control you. My body has borne injury before, and you have healed me - you can do so again." In truth, after all he had endured, Hardin had come to think that physical pain might be the least unpleasant method of torment that could be inflicted upon a man. Seeing his lover so distant, implying that they might never touch again...

"If I do not go so far," Sydney murmured, still looking away. "You are making it all the more difficult to resist, with your... suggestions."

"That was my aim."

Beneath the fall of his hair, Sydney's lips curled in another smile, still somewhat bitter. "I have known you to be brave, Hardin, but not so brave as to be foolhardy."

"I would not consider myself so," Hardin remarked, and sank to his knees; if Sydney could not touch him, he could still touch Sydney. "I have found that I am at my most secure when my life is in your hands."

Sydney scoffed quietly, and his jaw tightened momentarily before he dared to look down at Hardin once more, his eyes nearly burning in his need. "...And these," he said quietly, his hand clenching harder on the back of the chair as the other flexed and clicked back to a fist, "are my hands."

"They are," Hardin assured him, though he still found himself disturbed by the notion. Far better, though, than the ritual having left Sydney without. These were _Sydney's_ hands now... and his own pushed the folds of Sydney's robe further aside, grasping and momentarily being startled by cold metal instead of warm flesh at Sydney's hips. It made no difference, he told himself. What he was interested in at the moment still remained as it ever was; he leaned forward, taking Sydney into his mouth.

Another familiarity - the gasp Sydney made, the breath he let out through his teeth. The Sight allowed Hardin to see all of him, both of them, instead of only the skin before his eyes, and he watched as one metal glove dug trenches in the back of the chair from Sydney's efforts to control himself. If he had still been possessed of his hands of flesh, Hardin knew from experience that they would have been stroking his head, combing back and grasping his hair, palms pressing against his temples. Sydney's left hand, the hand not on the back of the chair rose slightly, as if Sydney were about to do exactly as he would have done. Hardin closed his eyes in anticipation, for he could still See without. And if Sydney was to touch him with these hands, Hardin was sure he could endure.

But no - Sydney's hand closed fitfully, dropping once more to his side. Sydney took a deep breath, and let it out as a murmur of Hardin's name. All was well, Hardin thought, his mouth being too occupied to speak aloud, and he had no need to speak with Sydney besides.

Sydney, however, spoke aloud. "Hardin... you know not what you do."

Hardin was of the opinion that he knew very well what he was doing, having done it many times before, and the thought actually made Sydney laugh, briefly and breathlessly. That was a relief - Hardin did wonder if he was making Sydney's burden easier to bear or more difficult.

"Both," breathed Sydney. "Both..." Again his hand rose, and this time Hardin felt the chill of the metal as Sydney's palm rested atop his head. Sydney's hand, he reminded himself, the Sight following the lines of the polished gleam up from the wrist to the elbow to the pauldron that now served as Sydney's shoulder, brushed by the tips of Sydney's pale hair. If nothing else, Hardin thought dryly, this ritual had left Sydney with much less chance of being injured in their skirmishes with the Blades; there was not so much of him left that was capable of being injured. 

His own hands reached for Sydney's thighs - now cold and stiff as well, though he wore nothing beneath the robe with which Hardin had covered him after the ritual's conclusion. Though Hardin had carefully bathed and cooled Sydney's skin, after days of feverish fits, taking in the cold sweat, the robe smelled like a man of flesh and blood, and Hardin found he didn't object. Already he missed Sydney's hands, and now his legs; though what Sydney had said suggested that they could not feel, Hardin could feel, and Sydney could see how he stroked up and down the inside of Sydney's thighs, just as he always had.

Above him, Sydney groaned, and Hardin paused for a moment, resting his head forward against Sydney's stomach to breathe. His own desire was growing with Sydney's reaction, and he'd find no relief beyond his own hand anymore. Certainly there was none to be found in _Sydney's_ hands, proven as he felt the metal slip back with the movement of his head... and a sharp stinging sensation, a trickle of warmth.

"Ah..." Sydney breathed, a moan that managed to sound apologetic.

Hardin shook his head, and continued where he had left off, one of his hands slipping down to open his trousers, the other caressing both metal and skin at Sydney's hip before encircling Sydney's shaft, working beneath his lips.

Sydney shuddered, and Hardin began to draw back. Sydney couldn't be so close to finishing already, could he...?

"No - Hardin," Sydney tried to explain, his voice halting. "I can feel it... your blood against the air, against my hand..."

Hardin considered. Sydney's hands couldn't feel, but they could feel his blood...?

"The Dark," Sydney managed, swaying slightly, though he still clutched tightly to the back of the chair. "The Dark feels it, and..." He took another deep breath.

It wanted him, or at least more of his blood. Hardin understood.

Hardin also cared very little, and took Sydney in deeper.

Instinct overcame caution, and Sydney's hands tried to grasp his hair. There was more of the stinging sensation, and an unpleasant dampness at the nape of his neck. Hardin winced slightly, but maintained his focus, lips and tongue and fingertips caressing Sydney's length. The sounds Sydney made, however, were half-stifled, clearly holding back.

You need not hold back anything.

"Hardin-"

I know exactly what I am saying. I know my limits, and your strength. He'd seen it many times, standing fast while the elements wound around him, while the Dark challenged Sydney's authority, only to be strictly held within its permitted bounds. Your will regarding me is stronger than the Dark - I trust you will prevail.

The tips of the blades scraped against the back of Hardin's neck, one cutting a shallow gash above his collar, and Sydney's eyes closed, his teeth clenched. But then, the Sight showed Hardin Sydney's other hand releasing the back of the chair. "You have... much faith in me."

Hardin abandoned the work of his mouth for the moment. "Did you not already know?" he murmured, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His hand, of course, could continue without risk of choking, or biting down, if Sydney was indeed going to accept his invitation.

It appeared he was, for the hand on Hardin's head shifted to cup his cheek, cold but strangely gentle, as the other palm came to rest upon Hardin's shoulder. Sydney steadied himself for a moment, inhaled deeply, and his right hand lifted away to curl into a ball... all but what would have been his index finger.

Leaning over Hardin, Sydney brought that blade to the center of Hardin's back, pressing it against the cloth that covered the skin. Perhaps it was the Dark that granted him the Sight, just as hungry as the Dark that drove Sydney to do such a thing, but this time Hardin could see the red stain swelling before he felt the sting. He took a breath and held as still as he could, watching as Sydney dragged the tip of one claw up towards the shoulder, severing the fabric and exposing a vivid red line beneath.

He watched as Sydney's head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed, and the claws that cradled Hardin's head twitched slightly. Not enough to cut, but perhaps struggling not to. Sydney swayed forward again, resting his palms upon Hardin's shoulders for balance.

As for Hardin's hands, one remained on Sydney, the other on himself. The pain spreading across his back had not negated his arousal. In fact, the look on Sydney's face more than made up for it. More so when Sydney's head bobbed forward carelessly, and Hardin once again _saw_ before he _felt_ the gashes torn in his shoulder, when Sydney's hands tightened their grip.

Sydney was panting, and in a way that Hardin knew well. "...Go on," Hardin murmured. "I've had far worse."

"Indeed..." Sydney had been present for many of them. This time Sydney didn't fight the urge for long, and his fingers dug in deeper, this time deeply enough to make Hardin gasp. That was more than a simple scratch...

But he could, and had, tolerated far worse when there was a cause. Reassuring Sydney - _keeping_ Sydney - was a worthy one in his eyes. Although Sydney must know his heart, Sydney had still paused, drawn the stained blades back, so Hardin made himself nod and speak aloud. "As you will," he muttered. "Whatever you require."

Sydney breathed a nearly silent, incredulous laugh. Of course - it was not _he_ that required it. He must have known that Hardin was already aware, for this time he did not argue. He only drew another deep breath and to Hardin's surprise, he knelt.

Sydney's arms wrapped around him, Sydney's tongue found his mouth and worked its way in, as Hardin was momentarily confused and disoriented by something attempting to part his knees; it was Sydney's, cold and hard and not at all what Hardin had expected to feel. Even so, it was Sydney, and Hardin let his hands roam up Sydney's sides as Sydney leaned in to press their bodies together, to kiss his neck... to nudge away the ruins of his shirt and tease the torn flesh of Hardin's shoulder with his tongue, licking the blood away.

Watching him with the Sight, Hardin found the vision far more compelling than he would have expected, and let his hands slid down to Sydney's rear, clutching and holding. Sydney's hips pressed forward against his own, but instead of holding Hardin, Sydney's hands raked down Hardin's back. Though Hardin nearly choked from the sudden pain, his own hips pressed back - for the look on Sydney's face as he tossed his head back was unmistakable as anything but ecstasy. Hardin considered the pain a fair trade for the sight of Sydney in such a state, particularly after days of illness.

Sydney was not sated, by any means, but the thrill seemed to drive him on, and he claimed Hardin's mouth once more, even more hungrily than before. Though Hardin had ceased his stroking and fondling, Sydney seemed not to mind. The blood, it appeared, was enough to drive him nearly wild, kissing and murmuring between the gasps and moans. "You're warm," Sydney mumbled against Hardin's neck, working down over his collarbone. His fingers cut through the hanging, drenched fabric of Hardin's shirt, dug into the small of his back, and Hardin let out a groan that Sydney echoed. "So _alive_..."

From the perspective of his observance, it made little sense to Hardin that he himself should still be so aroused as he was, and growing more so with every stinging touch of Sydney's fingers. But inside, within his body, he did not see or think, but only _felt_ \- and what he felt was a dizzying array of sensation, with Sydney and his desire at the root of it all, pain and pleasure alike. This was not at all like sustaining a wound in battle, or an accidental injury. This was Sydney, taking his enjoyment from Hardin, and when his enjoyment was so clear, perhaps it could not help but pass between them.

The back of Hardin's shirt was in tatters, barely still hanging from his shoulders, and served little more use than to smear the blood Sydney drew, keeping it from simply dripping down. Sydney caressed Hardin's body with his fingers in a way that would have been tender, had they been any hands other than these; he carved out smooth lines along the hard angles of Hardin's muscle, as if he were truly feeling him. Given what Sydney had said, perhaps he was... and Hardin would by no means refuse him this. Not now, when the pain had grown so severe that it had somehow lessened, becoming a distant concern. On a logical level, Hardin understood that this was a bad sign, that this was becoming dangerous. But then... it was Sydney, touching him, and he didn't want to stop Sydney even for a moment. Besides, with the pain receding, the pleasure he shared with Sydney was becoming overwhelming...

Hardin reached his climax still kneeling, before he'd even had the opportunity to remove his trousers, gasping into Sydney's hair and clutching at his back. Though his mortal vision was fogged and clouded over, the Sight seemed to intensify in those moments, letting him see the self-satisfied smile beneath Sydney's unkempt hair, the way he moved against Hardin's body, sharing the sensation and adding to it. 

But Sydney was not through yet. The hunger driving him was that of something more than a mortal man's body, and demanded more - while without his own need holding his attention, Hardin found himself beginning to grow weak under the strain. The pain was still distant and blurred... everything was blurred, except the Sight, which continued to show him the drops of red welling up beneath Sydney's hands in the sharpest detail, the shine of freshly drawn blood as it slicked his skin and soaked his clothing. Despite the clarity, it seemed to Hardin as if it was happening to someone else at a distance - that was how he was watching - and though the claws no longer stung, the metal was cold... everything was cold, and it was difficult to catch his breath.

This had gone too far, he recognized, only as he swayed and nearly fell, kept upright only by Sydney's arms around him - the claws impaling his back.

Sydney recognized this as well. It was the Dark that allowed Hardin to continue to see, while his mortal eyes grew dim. He watched as Sydney laid him back on the floor as carefully as he could manage with bladed hands, raw wounds dripping dark upon the dusty wooden planks. From outside his body, Hardin moved closer, so he could see beneath the veil of Sydney's blond hair. Sydney's shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath he breathed. Hidden from view, his eyes were dark, mirror-like. What he might be thinking or feeling, Hardin could not guess.

One of Sydney's hands lifted again, however, and the first two blades came to rest lightly upon Hardin's relatively undamaged but heaving chest. Small spots of red spread from the stained tips over the fabric, here still mostly intact. At least, Hardin thought it was from the claws, and that Sydney was not drawing further blood. It was difficult to tell.

...Had he misjudged, Hardin wondered? If Hardin had been wrong, and Sydney could not control the Dark's impulses any longer... With the Sight, he looked up, and he saw Sydney smile a strange, eager smile.

Hardin was not sure how long he lay there, the Dark showing him precisely what he did not want to see, something he had been sure he would not see. It was not so much that he cared for his own life, but Sydney... When Sydney returned to himself - _if_ he returned to himself, if he could stand to face himself after losing control - what would become of Sydney, if he failed in this trial? Sydney's smile twisted further...

And then, instead of cold, Hardin abruptly felt warm. The Sight slipped from him, and he was left with _ordinary_ vision, useless in his disorientation. In that case, then, he thought dimly, he could sleep... just sleep.

\---

The next thing Hardin was aware of was darkness. Not the Dark - only ordinary darkness. All was dark, and silent, and warmth.

This included the metal limb resting across his bare chest, which must have been there for some time, as it had taken on his body's own heat.

He blinked a few times, making certain that it was only dark, that there was nothing wrong with his eyes. The Sight had returned to him, however, and he scryed himself lying in the same bed where he'd placed Sydney days before to watch over him. The bed was not large, but large enough for two who were close as he and Sydney, and Sydney lay beside him under the blankets, one arm placed almost protectively across him.

"Welcome back, Hardin," came the quiet murmur.

Hardin smiled a little to himself. "I was right."

"A dangerous wager," Sydney mumbled, lips brushing Hardin's shoulder. "The outcome was questionable for a time. However, the Dark accepted my argument."

"Your argument...?" There was no lingering discomfort from the injuries Sydney had inflicted, as Hardin turned slightly to rest his own arm over Sydney's waist. As always when wounded, Sydney must have healed him before he woke. ...That was the warmth he had felt, Hardin remembered - the magic.

"You were willing and able to satisfy its craving," Sydney reasoned. "If it took you, it might be very difficult to find another so agreeable."

"Hmm..." That much was true, though it did imply that ... the entire thing might happen again.

Sydney turned a little further, propping himself up on one arm; the metal blades gleamed in what little light shone through the room, as they protruded from beneath Sydney's hair. "For now, your willingness to indulge us both has allowed me to prove my control over the Dark," he said seriously. "I must thank you... and I would by no means place such a burden upon you as to prove it time and time again. Yet it may be unavoidable, if we wish to continue on as we have been."

That in itself was enough for Hardin to make the decision. In the midst of his darkness, he had found a light in Sydney, and he would not surrender it willingly. "I have nearly given my life in your service many times over," he stated, caressing Sydney's back. "Never have I assumed that the risk had passed. Merely... changed."

The Sight showed him a thin smile upon Sydney's lips, and Sydney leaned in so that he could kiss them.

Sydney must have known, also, the other rationale behind Hardin's decision. Mercifully, he did not speak of it.


End file.
